


betting warmth against the cold

by ace_verity



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Karen Page's Backstory, Mentions of Cancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22211839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_verity/pseuds/ace_verity
Summary: Five Christmases in the life of Karen Page.
Relationships: Karen Page & Kevin Page, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	betting warmth against the cold

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sleeping at Last's "Snow."  
> Contains spoilers for all three seasons.  
> I don't own these characters -- they're the property of Marvel.  
> Canon-compliant, except section iv ignores one scene in 3.01. Check the end notes for more details.  
> Thanks for reading! :)

i.

It’s Christmas, and Karen Page is no longer an only child.

Looking back, she’ll wonder if she actually remembers that day; after all, she was only three years old, and she knows it’s just as likely that she’d pieced together enough family stories and photographs to form a hazy faux-memory. She likes to think that it’s a real memory, her first. There’s something poetic about it.

It’s Christmas, and to Karen Page, age three, no present under the tree can compare to seeing her new baby brother tucked in his bassinet.

“Be gentle with the baby,” her mother had told her for the months leading up to Kevin’s arrival; she repeats the warning now as she carefully places Kevin in Karen’s arms. He squirms a bit, then opens his eyes and gazes at her, blue meeting blue. She touches the tiny tuft of baby-hair on his head, runs a finger over the curve of his perfect nose.

She doesn’t remember much after that; after all, she was only three at the time. But Penelope Page insists that Karen had told everyone she’d met that her brother Kevin was born on Christmas Eve and was “much cuter than baby Jesus.” Paxton Page recalls Karen’s solemn promise to be a good big sister and protect her new little brother no matter what.

These stories make Karen smile, but she only really remembers the feeling of holding Kev for the first time, the room lit by the soft glow of lights on the tree, and to her, that’s enough.

ii.

It’s Christmas, and Karen Page sits in a hospital room next to her mother’s bed.

She’s fifteen, now, and Kevin’s twelve as of yesterday. His birthday had passed without much celebration — with Mom in and out of the hospital, they can barely afford to keep food on the table and the lights on, so presents are pretty much out of the question.

(But Karen has been saving up baby-sitting money for months and bought Kevin a few new shirts and an Orson Welles novel that he’d been eyeing up for months, and the look on his face when he opened the gifts yesterday made the hours she’d spent wrangling toddlers more than worth it.)

There’s a miniature Christmas tree in the corner of the room, giving off a weak glow and deepening the shadows on Penelope Page’s face.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Karen says, smiling as brightly as she can manage. “Kev and I got you something — here, open it.” She hands her an envelope.

Inside is a stack of scratch-off cards, ten of the $2-dollar kind, bought with the rest of Karen’s baby-sitting money and some of Kevin’s paper-delivery earnings.

Mom’s smile is radiant. “Look at you two — my babies, all grown up, buying a Christmas gift for their momma. Come here.” She sits up against the pillows and opens her arms, letting Karen tuck herself on one side of her and Kevin on the other. She pulls them close, the cards scattered across her lap, and asks, “Now which one should we save for when I’m all better?”

Penelope Page always does this — gets two cards, one to scratch and one to save, for a birthday or holiday or whenever they need cheering up. Kevin points to a brightly-colored card, and Karen nods and forces a smile.

She’s not stupid — she’s heard the doctors talking with her parents, about discontinuing treatment and hospice care and, most recently, how long her mother has left — surely measured by weeks and days now rather than months.

“Let’s do one now!” Kevin says, and their mom smiles and lets him choose. They win ten dollars, and they all cheer, Karen forcing her attention to the present.

There’s a lump in her throat as she takes it in — the sad little Christmas tree, the scent of bleach and sickness, the hollows of Mom’s face.

But Mom is smiling, and so is Kevin, so Karen focuses on that — their smiles, and the scratch-off tickets scattered on the bed — soaking in their joy, however momentary. They’re together, and happy, and alive, and that’s worth more than any gift.

iii.

It’s Christmas, and Karen Page is alone.

December in Washington, D.C. is downright depressing. There’s no snow, only forty-degree weather and rain and sometimes a chilly fog. She’s gotten special permission to stay in her Georgetown dorm room over the four-week winter break. She thinks she might be the only person in the whole building, and the thought makes her shiver.

There’s a part of her — a very small, bitter, horrid part — that itches for a fix, even now that she’s been clean for ten months. Since the funeral that she’d been told not to attend.

She realizes all of a sudden that she hasn’t even seen Kevin’s grave, and the thought makes her simultaneously nauseous and desperate for a drink. But she knows how the night will end if she starts drinking now, so instead she pulls on a coat and boots and heads outside into the night.

It occurs to her that she should be scared. After all, D.C. isn’t the safest city in the world, and she’s a pretty woman alone in the dark.

She keeps walking anyway.

She leaves the Georgetown campus and keeps going, past dark, formidable government buildings and churches with light pouring onto the sidewalk. She stops after what feels like hours on the banks of the Potomac, the waters black and frigid, and stands there until she realizes that she’s crying. She doesn’t know why — she feels empty, she feels nothing and hasn’t for months, so she certainly doesn’t feel _sad_.

But here she is, crying for no reason on a riverbank on Christmas Day, and all she can coherently think is, _I didn’t get a single goddamn present this year_. And she turns around and starts the walk back to Georgetown. She passes happy couples and giddy kids and worn-down workers getting off shift. Not a single person asks her if she’s alright, which is fine — she doesn’t know how she’d answer.

She stops in a seedy-looking Chinese takeout place and orders a carton of beef and broccoli. She waits until she’s back in her dorm to eat it, reheating it in the communal microwave that smells like burnt mac-n-cheese.

At the bottom of the bag, she finds a fortune cookie and an order of sweet coconut sticky rice in a plastic container with _Merry Christmas!! :)_ scrawled across the lid. She knows she didn’t order it, and she savors every bite of the dessert — her only Christmas gift this year.

She cracks open the fortune cookie and reads the slip of paper as she eats the cookie.

_You will find what you are looking for — do not give up._

She wants to scoff and throw it away, but something makes her tuck it carefully inside her wallet, between her drivers’ license and debit card.

_Merry Christmas!! :)_

She goes to bed and does not dream.

iv.

It’s Christmas, and Karen Page is standing across from her former boss with the Daredevil headpiece in her hands.

“I’m Daredevil,” he tells her, mouth set in a line, and she wants to laugh, or cuss him out, or turn on her heel and leave without a word.

She does none of these things. She turns the mask over in her hands, running a finger lightly over its curves and edges. She thinks, absurdly, of a Christmas twenty-three years ago, holding her baby brother and tracing his tiny nose, his ears, awestruck.

She doesn’t feel awestruck now, that’s for sure. She looks up at Matt, notes the healing cuts and bruises that seem even more vivid now that she knows the truth, and it all drains away — the anger, the hurt, the betrayal — and she just feels tired. So tired.

“What do you want me to say?” she asks finally, her voice flat. It’s not entirely rhetorical — she really is at a loss for words.

He shakes his head, and his face is almost pleading.

Finally, she comes up with something. “That ‘car accident,’ during the Fisk case, that was — this?”

He nods. “I was in a fight, got injured badly. That’s how Foggy found out — he came to my apartment. I was — bleeding out on the floor.” He must sense a fresh tide of anger taking hold of her at that and adds, “Don’t be angry at Foggy, Karen, please — he wanted to tell you, but—”

“But you thought I’d be safer if I didn’t know.”

He nods again, and she tears her gaze away from his face, looks around the bare office and at the steely sky outside the window. She remembers when sunlight had streamed through the window, warming her back, illuminating days of laughter and struggle and triumph.

Now, there’s only gray skies, and bare floorboards, and a mask in her hand.

“You saved my life,” she says finally. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad, um. That I could. I care about you, Karen,” he tells her, voice earnest.

There’s so much she can say to that. _Real interesting way you have of showing it_ , or _You do, huh? Then what was that woman doing in your bed?_ or _I care about you too, you idiot, and so does Foggy, so please—_

_Please—_

“Merry Christmas, Matt,” she says instead, handing back the mask. He takes it, and he looks so alone that her heart breaks a little for him in spite of it all. She reaches out, rests a hand on his arm, trailing her fingers down his wrist and grabbing his hand. She squeezes, and his fingers tighten on hers in return.

Then they let go, and for a moment she looks at his face, remembering how it looked lit by the glow of a thousand little chili-pepper lightbulbs strung from the restaurant ceiling, how he looked standing in the rain before his lips met hers.

“Bye, Matt."

She walks out of the office and back to her apartment, and she does not get drunk. She heats up some leftovers and eats standing over the kitchen sink, then curls up on the couch and turns on the TV, settling on a channel playing _It’s a Wonderful Life_ on repeat.

The problem is, she can’t get him out of her head; all she can see is him standing in the old office, looking lost and alone. Nobody should be alone on Christmas — she knows this from experience — but here they are. Here she is, not-watching a sappy old movie, and Matt's — where? Daredeviling? Sitting in his apartment, isolated from the two people who care most about him?

Alone on Christmas Day, once again. It’s enough to crush her willpower — she pours a glass of scotch and holds it up in mock toast. _Merry Christmas_ , she thinks, and tips it back in one swallow.

v.

It's Christmas, and Karen Page is happy.

Foggy goes to his parents' house for Christmas Eve dinner, and though Matt usually joins him, he stays in Hell's Kitchen to go to the evening vigil Mass and then meets Karen for dinner at their favorite Indian restaurant, the one with chili pepper lights. He brings Maggie along too, and Karen is nervous at first that she'd feel like she was intruding, but the conversation flows easily, and she finds herself relaxed and content.

She doesn't know if Matt changed his plans to keep her company, but she appreciates his presence nonetheless.

Later, once they've walked Maggie back to St. Agnes', Matt takes her arm, anchoring himself with a light touch. They're headed to Karen's apartment in comfortable silence when Karen says, surprising herself, "Today's Kevin's birthday."

“I didn’t know that,” Matt responds, and if he’s surprised by her non-sequitur, he doesn’t let on.

She nods. “I remember holding him for the first time on Christmas. I was three, and he was — he was the best Christmas gift I could have hoped for.”

“I bet,” Matt says softly, and the gentleness in his voice makes tears spring to her eyes. But she blinks them away and leans against him, dipping her head onto his shoulder for just a moment. She casts her eyes skyward, imagining that she can see stars through the ever-present city haze.

The night is crisp and cold, and it’s snowing lightly by the time they reach her place. She hesitates, just a bit, not relishing the idea of sitting alone on Christmas Eve, and Matt must notice, because he says, “You’re welcome to spend the night at my place, if you like.”

There’s no hidden meaning in his offer, just honest kindness. She doesn’t know how she ended up so lucky, to have him and Foggy as friends.

“I’d like that a lot,” she replies, gratitude evident in her tone.

He waits in her apartment for her to pack an overnight bag, and when she’s ready, they set off again. They don’t talk, but rather enjoy the relative peace that’s fallen over the city as light spills from windows along the sidewalk and carols and laughter lace the air.

When they reach his apartment, Matt opens a bottle of wine, and they sit on the couch side-by-side. The air seems to hum with words left unsaid, but Matt breaks the silence.

“Tell me about him?”

She does.

\---------

Foggy arrives at Matt’s place around noon the next day — Christmas Day — and they prepare dinner together, bumping into each other and generally making a mess. Foggy sings along to Bing Crosby at maximum volume, and Matt’s laughing too hard, head thrown back and shoulders shaking, to attempt to quiet him. Sometimes, Karen steps back just to watch them, but never for long — Foggy or Matt will grab her by the arm and pull her in to join them, and she doesn’t think she’s ever felt her heart this full.

Because Matt's alive, and Fisk is in jail for good this time, and it can’t get better than this: the three of them at the tiny round table in Matt's apartment when dinner is finally ready, knocking elbows and knees because they're so crowded, drinking wine and eating Karen's grandmother's famous virtue lasagna. There's a pie in the fridge for dessert from the best bakery in Hell's Kitchen (according to Matt, anyway — they trust him, since he's the one with the super-nose).

There's a moderately-sized artificial Christmas tree in one corner, the presence of which Karen had demanded. She and Foggy had decorated it one night, managing to find some sparkly novelty Daredevil ornaments in a tiny shop near their office, and Matt tips his head back and laughs when he touches them.

When they’ve finished dinner, they work together to clean the dishes — Foggy scrubs, Karen rinses, and Matt dries and stacks — and there’s a moment after that when Foggy’s started to pick the crust off the pie, ignoring Matt’s amused rebukes, when she suddenly remembers the Christmas she spent in D.C., eating Chinese takeout in her dorm, and digs in her wallet, searching.

It’s still there, a bit faded and fragile but otherwise intact: _You will find what you are looking for — do not give up_.

_It came true_ , she realizes. She’s made it.

She tucks it away gently and turns to see Matt and Foggy paused, looking her way.

“You alright, Karen?” asks Matt.

“Never better,” she says. “Never better, boys,” without a trace of irony, because it’s _true_.

She moves to join them, Foggy taking her hand and spinning her to the opening notes of _White Christmas_ as Matt smiles and smiles.

It’s Christmas, and Karen Page is home.

**Author's Note:**

> Section iv ignores the flashback scene in 3.01 in which Karen goes to Matt's apartment after he reveals himself to her as Daredevil.  
> Hope you enjoyed! I'm new to AO3, so feedback is appreciated! :)


End file.
